The Coming Winter
The moon had risen twice more since that singular night he'd awoken on the lake. Jack had seen the light of his first sunrise through the thick trees. He'd seen his first sunset hours later, with the moon rising high in it's place. It had been two days since those people had walked straight through Jack, as if he were as insubstantial as the wind.
And yet even the wind had held more force than Jack did. You could feel the wind on your skin, tugging at your hair. But Jack? Jack had been nothing at all.
But the world was too new and full of so many wonderful things, and Jack couldn't dwell in his sorrows for too long. That confusion would set in with a heavy heart, but a tug of the wind at his hair, an animal scampering through the underbrush, delicate ice decorating the pine needles of evergreens would distract the boy and he'd be off to explore and experiment.
And with his wonderful, exciting, exhilarating abilities, there was so much to experiment with. He'd hardly even think about it and the wind would swoop him up in its embrace, throwing the boy around this way and that. He'd be frightened for a moment, falling free until the wind caught him with a sweep, sending him spiraling head-over-heels in the air. He'd always come out of it laughing. Maybe a little bruised and banged up, but laughing all the same.
Sometimes it went just a little too far. On the third night, Jack had somehow managed to hold himself steady, arms outstretched as the breeze played around him. See? He was getting the hang of this. It wasn't hard at all.
The boy tipped to the side, laughing as he lounged in mid-air, folding an arm behind his head. Except he was still tipping and suddenly he was upside-down, throwing out an arm as if he could somehow swing himself upright again. Instead, he lost his grasp on whatever told the wind to pluck him up in the first place and the boy plummeted towards the ground like a rock.
He crashed through the branches, yelping as he was dragged down, staff knocked free from his hand. The boy through his arms out and managed to wrap them around a sturdy branch halfway down, clinging there for dare life with his arms and legs wrapped all the way around it.
And the boy just laughed as he slowly pushed himself up, looking around to see just where he'd ended up. What caught his eye first was the end of his staff dangling just a little ways above him. But really, was he going to let a little thing like a tree and gravity stop Jack Frost? Definitely not. And so Jack, with a determined glint in his eye, carefully slid up a little further until he met the trunk. He rose to his feet, one hand against the bark to steady himself as he turned his feet, trying to find some halfway decent footing.
He teetered this way and that, unsteady on his feet, but Jack paid it little mind as he reached up with his free hand, stretching his fingers as far as he could go. But his fingertips were still just a few inches short and Jack pushed himself up onto his toes.
But all it took was a bit of frost, a poor step, and suddenly Jack's arms were pin-wheeling wildly in the airas he yelped, the world tipping around him. A moment later, he was clinging to the branch again with arms and legs, staring at the long distance down to the ground.
